The Original Six
by georgiastark
Summary: Earths Mightiest Heroes have failed. With a click, the universe is gone. Peter Parker? Gone. Nick Fury? Gone. The original six are left and lost.
1. Tony

**The Original Six** **; Tony**

 **How everyone is feeling on the first 36 hours after the click.**

 **Enjoy you sadistic fuckers;**

* * *

Tony couldn't stop shaking. He could not stop shaking.

Peter was just before him. He was just there. Seconds ago. He was crying, clinging onto him. Peter Park was there. Ten minutes ago he was giving him stupid grins and ideas from movies. Ten days ago Peter was at school, calling Tony for a piece of homework he didn't completely understand (it was English homework and Tony just laughed at Peter for 5 minutes before telling him has dyslexic and can't spell for the life of him, but he can help anyway). Ten months ago Peter was a laughing teenager, calling Tony every day, explaining what he had done that day, saying what he had accomplished (Tony would never admit it, but those calls kept him grounded when he wanted to float into the abyss and not return). Ten years ago, he was playing with toy cars, flying them around the living room, running in between his parents and giggling like a kid, no cares in the world. Six year old Peter Parker didn't know his fate, he was a kid, jumping around, giggling laughing. Ten seconds ago he was crying.

He was gone. Peter was gone. He was helping him more than he knew, he was helping Tony smile. He was helping Tony realise he wanted a family, he wanted to be with Pepper forever, have kids, grow old together. He was keeping the man grounded, grounded when him and Pepper were apart and he was struggling to float, struggling against the current that begged to pull him under.

And now that help was gone.

And it was his fault. Peter was gone. The Doctor was gone. Quill was gone. Everyone around him was gone. It was his fault. He should have moved faster. Peter _fucking_ Parker was gone. He was a teenager. He had a life. And he was gone, and it was because of Tony. Tony Stark.

"We should leave." The Blue Woman's voice was mechanical, sore. It was raw. "I can't stand being here. We should go to your home. He mentioned it. Earth, correct?"

He didn't know how to reply, he didn't trust his own voice, so he just nodded. He felt an arm on his, pulling him up, lifting him to his feet. The two, an unlikely pair, supported each other to the ship, almost collapsing the second they got in, each taking their time. The Blue Woman (who introduced herself as Nebula) screamed, hitting a wall in pain, cursing her father for killing someone she loves. Tony stood, his mind completely blank. All grey. He felt nothing. He wanted to feel something, but his mind was static.

The two ran on autopilot, flying the breaking ship back to earth. The site of New York almost made him puke. Seeing it from so high again. The calls flooded in, and one, of fucking course, one was from Steve.

He couldn't ignore it. He called the number. Steve answered. He wasn't making sense, mumbling something about Bucky, and he was sorry. And then mumbling he was really sorry for his loss, and then; "Come to Wakanda."

Still on autopilot, he landed in the area. The sun was shinning, blocking their view from being good. The air was cold though. Stiff. It was foggy. Foggy with emotions. Steve was the first to greet them, wrapping Tony into a tight hug. Tony responded slowly, hugging the now shaking man back. "I'm so sorry." He said again. Tony repeated it. He looked around. Bucky didn't stand anywhere around. It clicked, slowly. He was gone. Steve was obviously crushed. Red rimmed eyes, shaking arms and hands, relying on being held up by others. Steve's destruction, Steve's sadness his grief, was on him. If he had done something more, if he had moved faster. People would be here.

Natasha was next to join, rubbing his back when they hugged, also muttering a soft "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Each Avenger greet their old friend, hugging him tightly. He looked around the strange city, the meeting of his friends.

Pepper.

She wasn't there.

He turned to Natasha; "Pepper?"

Natasha couldn't reply other than; "it doesn't look good". She couldn't make eye contact with him. He couldn't even feel his heart being ripped to shreds. He stood there. Half in shook, half. Half having no idea. He wasn't in reality. Nothing felt real. Each step (now being supported by Steve and Banner) didn't feel real. He couldn't feel the ground underneath him, or at least. He didn't know. It felt so strange. Each step, each breathe. The hands on his shoulders, holding him tightly. They felt so off. Like they were touching some else's body, but with his head in it. His vision played like a movie, rolling and flicking tape. His life wasn't real. He wanted to shrug off Steve, he wanted to shrug off Banner. They had their own stuff. He could walk. He could easily walk. They needed support.

His hands made contact with the ground, and he sat there, hands and knees on the ground. His arms were shaking under his weight.

"Tone? Tony, can you hear me?" Natasha's voice sounded so muffled. Her voice sounded like she was shouting from three rooms down. He looked at her. He didn't trust his voice. He didn't want to speak. "We have to have a meeting. We need to discuss what's happening. Contact. Contact Clint. Contact Fury. We don't know for sure about Pepper, okay? We haven't got word of her. I can get someone to check the house." He nodded, and Steve collapsed. All the attention was turned to the blond man, laying on the floor.

Tony reached out, grabbing Steve's hand. Trying to find a pulse. Trying to find the beating to make sure his friend was alive. He couldn't handle losing him. Steve was a jerk, but he was a good jerk. And now he was laying on the floor in front of him, going pale. He couldn't lost Steve.

"He's okay." A voice he didn't recognise said. "Just tired. Extremely tired. He's gone through a lot. His partner just died."

He shook his head, mumbling confused statements. Steve was held up, Wakandians around him, rubbing his back, trying to bring the man back to reality. Tony watched, watched these people try help Steve. They were all in grief. They lost someone as well. Everyone's lost someone.

"I killed him. I killed Bucky. It's my fault." Steve was mumbling words, sentences that didn't make sense. He was being lifted up, practically dragged away as he continued mumbling about Bucky. Bucky was dead. Steve's partner, his boyfriend, was dead. It made sense, that they were together. Steve did the same stuff that Tony would do for Pepper. He acted the same when he came into danger. He lost his head if he lost him. Steve was losing his head, and Tony. Well Tony couldn't comprehend what was actually going on. Arms were picking him up again, guiding him into places he didn't know, place's he didn't understand.

His vision seemed like it was being painted in front of him, the universe being created as he moved. The room he was placed in was pretty, he guessed. There was a teen girl sitting in the biggest chair, holding herself up tight and straight, and silently crying. Thor was in a seat next to Tony, his head in his hands. He wasn't speaking, wasn't moving. Thor, for the first time in a long time, was quiet. Steve was slumped in a chair, directly across from Tony, red rimmed eyes, but a blank face. He held no emotions in his face, almost like everything had been taken from him. Natasha was sitting on the floor, holding her legs to her chest, breathing somewhat heavily.

Bruce was sitting next to Tony, holding his hand, rubbing slow circles. Tony could register that Bruce was speaking to him, but he couldn't hear the words he was saying. He couldn't understand what Bruce was whispering to him.

"We have information." A woman he didn't know stood in front of him.

Pepper Potts, dead. Nick Fury, dead. Maria Hill, dead.

Pepper Potts. Dead. Her diamond ring was found laying in a pile of ash, a broken wine glass laying near the pile. His friends, his teammates. Tried speaking to him, but he was gone. He'd lost the two of the four people have gave a shit about. He had moved it down to three when Natasha played with Steve, but she was there. And she was talking to him, and she was mostly added back to the list (keyword; mostly).

She was dead. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe what was happening, but he didn't. He sat, rocking himself back and forth. It was his fault. His fault. His number one reason was gone. Pepper Potts, his sanity, his rock, was gone.

"I need to go." He fumbled out. Natasha looked almost shocked that he spoke, and tried to stand. Two strong hands pulled him down, Bruce on one side, Thor on the other. "Please."

"We meet a plan."

"For what? The world's fucked. We may as well fucking give up now."

"We can't." The girl from before, the teen. She'd be about Peter's age.

"What the fuck do you know? Let me go. Please. Please fuck. Nono." His chest was tightening now. His legs moving too fast. He could feel the panic coming on. He's never had one of these around his ex-team. He's never. He couldn't. He couldn't completely freak out.

But he already was. Gasping for pathetic breathe after pathetic breathe. His vision was cloudy with tears. He wasn't sure if he was crying for Peter, or Pepper or that doctor or for himself. But he was crying. He wasn't sure if it was the guilt, or the grief. But she was gone. Bucky was gone. Peter was gone. He'd killed them all. They were all gone.

He made eye contact with Steve, and the man, looked so broken, yet so sorry. He moved forward, marching across the floor towards the blond man, shoving him against the chair he was sitting on. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"The purple bitch."

"He vanished too, Tony. He's gone too."

"No," he mumbled again, moving backwards until he made contact with Thor. That blond idiot (he wasn't an idiot, Tony knew that) just grabbed him, holding him close.

"I lost my brother." His voice was raw, and shuddering. Thor sounded like he had been screaming for hours, and his hug, seemed like he hadn't been touched warmly or hugged in a thousand years. He was shaking, and the God was not okay.

None of the Avengers were okay. The World's Strongest Heroes were falling.

* * *

His sleep failed him. He was plagued by nightmares, and cold sweats.

So he walked the halls of the Wakandan kingdom. Letting the static fill his ears. Each step, each feeling of the dirt underneath his feet, the walls running underneath his fingertips. He took a breathe every ten seconds, trying to keep himself calm. Trying to stop breaking peace by peace.

Walking use to help him, before he got to alcohol. He use to walk his fathers grounds, pace around and around his room. Calm himself. In Afghanistan he would pace the cave. He would pace the area, controlling his breathing. He had no idea where he was going, but he turned corners, followed dimming hallways until he found what he was hoping, had alcohol. The room was vast, and there was a bed in one corner, and a fridge in the corner. He bee lined towards it, opening it up, grabbing bottles out, looking up to see a massive bottle of Jack-Daniels. He grabbed it too, beginning to sever himself a drink, ready to down it all within a minute.

He wasn't sure if he was trying to drink himself to being plastered, or drink himself to death. He mostly drunk himself to complete drunkness, the forgetting of past, present and future. His tolerance and certainly gone up in the past two years, with everything that he had fucked up, it was easy to drink more and more. But today? He wanted to forget, and he also wanted to drink himself until he died.

"Get out." He turned. A woman was standing in front of him. Her eyes were bloodshot red, her hair curly and cut short. "Do you have no respect?"

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, "I was wandering and I didn't. I've never been here. I'm sorry."

She didn't reply, simply looked at him, studying him up and down. He backed into himself. Her eyes were staring into his soul, almost glaring at him; "you lost someone as well."

 _As well_

He could only nod. He didn't want to think about it. He was drinking to purposefully forget that Pepper and Peter ever existed. He needed to forget their existences, and he was praying he could drink until he died because they he'd never have to remember them again.

"Drinking won't help forever." She said. He shrugged in response. "Nakia." She sat down next to him, grabbing the entire bottle and taking a large swig.

"Tony."

"To, T'Challa and.."

He shook his head. He didn't trust his voice. Everything was shaking beforehand, and he was sure his voice was going to crack and fail, and that would cause him to cry. He didn't want to cry.

Crying made it real. And he refused to make it real.

But Nakia touched his back, gently, rubbing a circle and he couldn't hold himself together. He tried pulling away, and lent forward, hiding his tears.

"Pepper."

"To T'Challa and Pepper," Nakia said, holding up the glass, Tony clinked their glasses together and downed the drink.

And then they sat. Sitting in silence, each of their minds running over what had happened the past few hours. Tony sat in guilt. Guilt that his poor behaviour, his strive to fix the things, his attempts to stop this from happening hadn't worked. Thanos had still won. Thanos had killed half the bloody universe and it was his fault. The crushed woman beside him, losing her fiancé, was because of him. The grief that swamped the world, the extreme hurt of losing their other halves.

They were all gone, because of him.

* * *

He woke up on the floor. Nakia was gone, and he didn't even have a headache. He wished he did. He could blame the grimances of speech on that. But he couldn't.

So he walked again. Trying to find someone he knew. Steve, Nat, Bruce, Thor, anyone. He didn't care. He needed a face. A face he knew to sit with. Probably not talk because he was scared he would let up what was raging in his head. The guilt that weighed him down.

With each step, he heard a different sound, someone knew coping. The guards that stood, blank faces, a few with tears still. The men that walked the castle, hands and arms on each other, recovering from alcohol. The women that sat, drinking calmly on the floor, staring as though nothing in front of them existed.

And then he saw Steve. He glanced in a room, and he saw his old friend. A still punching bag in the corner of his room, empty drinks laying neatly on the floor, his bed barely creased. And the tall, blond man, staring outside the window. Standing straight up, arms behind his back. Holding himself as though he was carrying the sun.

"Steve?" He cleared his throat. Steve didn't turn around. "Steve." He walked into the bedroom, eyes scanning the room again. Everything was insanely neat, scarily neat.

The man didn't register him; "Steve." He touched his shoulder, causing him to flinch violently, and grab Tony's hand. "It's me. Come walk with me. I don't want to speak either, but it's easier than, watching."

Steve didn't respond, verbally at least. He nodded and followed Tony. Now they two walked, following no pattern. Just walking. Feeling themselves, feeling the emotion, the sadness, the grief. The let themselves feel, Steve possibly more than Tony.

Tony didn't truly break down until the evening when Clint arrived. Natasha practically flew off her chair, wrapping the man in a hug. He responded, slowly. They hugged so close to the group, that they all heard it. They heard Clint's sobs, his voice that shook scarily.

"They're dead. They're all dead. My kids. My kids."

His voice filled the room, and Natasha could only hold him so much.

Tony's reality melted once more. He was there, he was viewing what was happening, but it wasn't _real_. He had done it. If he was faster, if he was quicker. If he had done more. He, Thanos would be dead. They would all be alive. Pepper would be alive. Peter would be alive. Clint's family would be alive. Bucky would be alive. Half the universe would be alive if it wasn't for him, if it wasn't for Tony _fucking_ Stark.

"Tony. Tony breathe. It's okay." Bruce's voice was in his ear, his hand on his back. "We'll figure something out. We can get them back." He sounded like he was reassuring himself as well as Tony.

But it was his fault. It was all his fault. It was his fault; "My fault. My fault. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." He repeated, over and over. Unable to change his mind, flick to something else.

Anthony Edward Stark was cracking and breaking like a fucking china doll.

* * *

 **Oops, Steve or Clint next?**

 **~ Georgia**


	2. Steve

**Sorry**

 **Or not I dunno yet**

 **I don't own characters blah blah blah**

 **Enjoy;**

* * *

"Steve?" Steve whipped around, Bucky was walking towards him, and falling. Falling to the ground. He sprinted towards him, but he vanished. His Bucky vanished. He held the ash that were Bucky, gripping them to his chest.

"No. No no no no no no no no no no no no no. Oh god no no." Bucky's ashes were flying away in the wind, and he tried grabbing them. "No." His voice cracked and he bent forward, holding his ashes close to his face, his body, breathing heavily.

Bucky was gone. Bucky was gone. Bucky was gone.

He was gone.

Steve shit beforehand, he was suicidal he hated his life. He hated it still when Bucky was around but he could laugh, he felt better. Bucky was there. He was there. And now? He was gone. He grabbed for the ashes, holding them close, picking as many up as he could, reaching to try and stuff the ashes in pockets, to try protect Bucky's ashes. He needed to have him in his arms. The ashes' were Bucky. They were Bucky.

Bucky _fucking_ Barnes was gone.

Arms grabbed him, pulling him up. He mumbled protests, begging to be left with Bucky, muttering wishes of death. Begging to be left, begging the person carrying him to leave him, leave him to die. They didn't respond, still carrying the Super-Soldier away.

The grip on him was so tight, no matter how much he twisted and turned, he couldn't escape the tight grip. He couldn't escape the grip that kept him for getting more of Bucky's ashes. He screamed, screamed at the person. He needed to be let go of. He didn't want to be touched, he needed to be away. He wanted to hold Bucky. He screamed again, pushing off the person, but they held tightly to him.

"Please." He wheezed. Pulling more and more away.

Carrying Steve Rogers away, as he screamed and cried.

* * *

He was being supported still, when the Avengers walked back to Shuri. Okoye, T'Challa's guard, was holding him up, rubbing his back. He knew she was crying, he felt her body shaking as she walked. Hearing the young girl break down, gripping Okoye, almost shoving him to the side. Steve stumbled, still rocking around. His mind was spinning, his eyes unable to focus.

Natasha was at his side, holding him up, almost within seconds of him being left without support; "Call Tony."

He shook his head. He couldn't. But she insisted, calling for him.

He didn't pick up. Natasha held her breathe, holding Steve tighter, as he begun to panic. Everyone was dying. He held the woman closely to him, mumbling that it was unfair.

And then, the phone rung. Steve's legs failed him, falling to the ground, picking up the call, hearing Tony's voice in the phone, asking if he was okay.

"Bucky's dead. He's dead. I'm so sorry. We tried. I'm so sorry. He's dead oh god. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He continued, having no idea what he was saying, mumbling all the sentences that came to his mind, no filter. Steve, for the first time in his entire life, spoke to someone else with no filter, no judging mind. He just mumbled. He mumbed about Bucky, and about Pepper and mumbled continuous sorry's.

"Is anyone with you?" Tony interrupted.

"Natasha, everyone. Bruce. Thor. Wakanda. Come to Wakanda." Tony didn't reply. Perhaps he was lost in his world too.

The phone hung up, and he was getting picked up again. Bruce was out of the suit, holding one side, Natasha holding the other, the two hauling him back to the city. He didn't feel real. He wasn't sure if he could cry. He wanted to.

He just let them lead him, let them take him there. Carry him to outside where Tony's ship already landing.

He could stand on his own, seeing Tony walk down the ship, holding a blue girl, and the blue girl holding him. Supporting each other. He walked to Tony, wrapping him in a tight hug, letting a few tears slip. Tony held him back tightly, gripping him, rubbing his back. Tony looked a wreck.

"I'm sorry," Tony mumbled. Steve watched as each Avenger greeted Tony, hugging him tightly. He was left without support, he was left. He was alone.

Everyone was focusing on themselves, and others. They switched, thinking of the pain of the others. Seeing Tony stand there, and leave reality. Tony swayed, and he moved forward, holding him on one side, Bruce on the other, walking towards the entrance of the castle. He was moving on autopilot. Steve wanted to help others. He wanted to help Tony. It distracted him. Holding Tony, focusing on Tony, distracted him from thinking of Bucky. He didn't think of Bucky if he was thinking of someone else.

Tony was mumbling to himself, mumbling he didn't need them. He was moving violently, trying to shrug everyone off, push off his friends. And he feel.

Tony fell to the ground, heavy breathing, and Steve was ripped back to his mind.

Bucky was gone. He was gone. His best friend. His partner. His reason for laughing. Was gone. He was gone. Bucky was dead. It was his fault. He should have protected him. Bucky needed protection, people hated him, he hated himself. He needed Bucky. He felt so shit. He felt so tired. He couldn't see. He couldn't see. His hands didn't feel like his hands, his fingers didn't register each other.

His vision was blacking out slowly, he saw large and fading dots of black, and then the ground came surging towards him.

* * *

"Where is he?" Tony was at his face, and Steve was in reality. He looked at Tony's face. He was shaking, he was crying. He looked pale and sickly.

"Who?"

"The purple bitch."

"He vanished too, Tony. He's gone too."

"No," he mumbled again, moving backwards until he made contact with Thor. Steve watched as Tony whipped around, being pulled into a tight hug by the God, being held as Thor completely broke down.

No one was okay.

"Do you want to leave?" Okoye stood next to him, watching him carefully. "We have a room for you." Steve nodded, and she helped him up, walking him to his room.

He turned to Okoye to ask, ask if she needed support. If she needed help as well. She simply smiled and shook her head. She disagreed. She said she had the support. The pair stood in silence, and he stepped forward, hugging Okoye. She went to shrug him off but didn't. The pair hugged for a moment. Okoye didn't let her walls down, but she rubbed Steve's shoulder, saying she cared for him and could support him.

She apologised for Bucky dying, saying she grew to care for him slowly.

The second he was in silence, it all hit him.

Bucky was so gone.

* * *

He stood by the window. He didn't want to sleep. He refused to sleep. Before Bucky, he'd have nightmares of his death. During Bucky, he'd have nightmares of his death. He didn't want to try now. He refused to see it play over and over again. He couldn't. He wanted to stay awake and focus on the city. Watch the city. He couldn't sleep.

Sleep was unsafe. Sleep was a terrority he didn't want to enter. It held uncertainty's, it held nightmares. It held PTSD induced nightmares, moments of terror that his brain refused to piece together.

So he stood. Watching the city below him flickering with lights. Flicker with the families, dealing with extreme emotions, with grief. He stood, wrapping his mind around everything that was going on.

Replaying what happened. Replaying hitting Thanos, replaying the moments before Bucky died.

But never replaying the moment were Bucky died. When he hit that point, he replayed again, and again, and again. Trying to see where he went wrong, where Captain America fucked up and screwed the world. Trying to find out where he made the fatal mistake, the fatal mistake that killed half the universe.

He searched his memory until the sun rose, he replayed the moments, going back further and further until the sun rose. Replaying the fight at the front, and Bucky's last smile.

He replayed the small moments beforehand. Bucky's hand on his, his body in Steve's, hugging each other tightly. He replayed their hugs, their embrace. He replayed Bucky's laughter in his head, replayed their last kiss. Bucky holding him close, as he kissed Steve on the lips, and Steve pulling him closer. His lips were so soft on his, their meant to be a short peck, turned into them just holding each other tightly, Bucky's lips now on Steve's neck. Steve replayed their kiss and hug over and over, replaying Bucky's; "With you 'til the end of the line." And him replying. He replayed Bucky's last calm words to him over and over.

But he never replayed the moment of the "Steve," the fearful look. He couldn't replay that moment. He couldn't.

Steve could not replay the last moments of his partner's life. He could not replay the moments of his best friends life. Not of Buckys. But he replayed again, and let his mind wander to the last moments.

Bucky turning to him, in utter fear, muttering his name. His falling steps towards him. If only he had been faster if only he could have stepped forward sooner. Bucky would have died in his arms. He could have hugged Bucky again. He could have fixed it. If he had fought harder, fought faster Bucky would be alive. He would be okay.

He replayed it again.

"Steve?"

And again.

"Steve."

He replayed it and replayed it. Bucky, he replayed.

"Steve." A hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched away, falling into the wall behind him. "It's me. Come and walk with me. I don't want to speak either, but it's easier than, watching."

Tony stood there, eyes watching. Sunken in eyes, carefully watching Steve, carefully observing him. Tony searched him, and then turned, beginning to walk, and he followed.

He didn't know what made him follow, but he did. Walking the halls with Tony Stark, not making a sound, not truly comforting each other. But Steve was so grateful for Tony's presence and grateful that he didn't make a comment about the tears that were now falling fast down his face.

* * *

Thor was next to him, arm over his shoulders, holding him close. He'd talked to him, explaining that Loki was dead, and he wasn't sure how to react. Loki was dead. Bucky was dead. Pepper was dead. Everyone was losing someone, everyone was falling apart slowly.

The silence in the room was broken by doors opening and loud cries for help. Natasha's falling chair and cries only getting louder and louder. Clint's sobs, his cries for help. His begging's for change, for comfort. Natasha's comforting hushes, mumbles of love.

"They're dead. They're all dead. My kids. My kids. My wife." Steve watched in horror as Clint seemed to change completely. A tough, grown exterior was holding onto his friend, sobbing. Crying in grief, and fear, and sadness. And a mess of emotions that everyone was aching with.

Steve could only watch as Clint's walls fell down, as his walls collapsed, and as his world fell in on itself.

He wanted to fix it. He walked over, hugging Clint as well, only causing the poor man to cry harder.

The room was filling with cries, and aches, and pains.

It was the Avengers breaking.

* * *

 **~ Georgia**


End file.
